


Parsley

by sneetchstar



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Smut, F/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 23:51:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16984146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: Ros & Ben discover a few things thanks to Mercutio and his "mistletoe on a stick"





	Parsley

“God, Montague! You are the most frustrating—”

“ _I’m_ frustrating? Capulet, you are without question the most argumentative, in—”

“Mistletoe!” Mercutio’s cheerful voice interrupts Rosaline and Benvolio’s current argument. The pair look over and see their mutual friend wearing a black Zorro mask, holding a pool cue aloft with a sprig of something green rubber banded to the end of it.

Benvolio almost immediately regroups. “Most argumentative, infur—”

“ _Mistletoe!_ ” Mercutio insists, lightly tapping Benvolio on the head with the stick.

He swats at it absently, simultaneously continuing his tirade. “...infuriating _harpy_ I have ever—”

This time his words are stopped by a pair of lips crashing against his, kissing him with enough force to make him lose his balance. He reflexively reaches out to steady himself, grabbing onto the waist of the person kissing him.

“Capulet…” he exhales, breathing heavily and blinking in surprise as he looks at her. His foe. His nemesis since the day they met a year ago when their cousins met one another and immediately decided they were madly in love. “What the…?”

She stares back, just as wide-eyed and stunned. If she had taken one second to think about her actions, she would have expected him to push her away. At the very least. “I was just trying to shut you up,” she finally says.

He is still holding her loosely, close enough to smell her sweet scent. Close enough to kiss again. His lips are still tingling with the memory of her warm, soft lips pressed against his. “By kissing me?” he asks, puzzled.

“Mercutio’s ‘mistletoe’ on a stick?” she reminds him, giving a rather helpless shrug. She glances around and sees the self-proclaimed “Mistletoe Bandit” is suddenly nowhere to be found, having disappeared among the other party-goers.

“Oh yeah. I have learned not to pay attention to him when he gets that way,” he absently says. His gaze keeps straying to her lips, so plump and inviting.

So close.

“It wasn’t even mistletoe,” she says, wondering why he hasn’t dropped his hands. Wondering why she hasn’t moved away. She suddenly finds herself seeing him in a new light, suddenly finding his tousled hair charming and his green-gray-blue eyes entrancing. She can still feel the rough-soft scratch of his short beard on her skin. She blinks a few times, trying to clear her head. “It was parsley. Or maybe cilan—”

This time it is Benvolio who initiates the kiss, but not with the same intent and force Rosaline had previously used.

This time the kiss is softer, more tentative. Sweeter. Exploratory.

He is careful but intentional, waiting to see how she’ll respond. He expects her to push him away.

Instead, she melts against him with a nearly inaudible whimper, and he wraps his arms around her.

When her arms move from where they were resting on his chest to up around his neck, he angles his head a little more and further tightens his embrace until her body is flush against his.

When one of her hands makes its way into his hair a moment later, he eases the kiss back just enough to lightly suck her bottom lip for a moment before sweeping the tip of his tongue along her upper lip.

Her response is immediate, her tongue meeting his as their mouths simultaneously open further to deepen the kiss. Benvolio feels the wall behind his back and leans against it to support them both as Rosaline clings to him.

They are so lost in each other that they are completely unaware of their cousins and friend covertly watching them. Unaware of how Juliet is beaming and that Romeo is grudgingly handing Mercutio some folded cash. When Ben’s hand skims lower down Rosaline’s back and grasps her rear, Romeo hands over another bill. When Rosaline _still_ doesn’t push Benvolio away, Romeo gives Mercutio yet another.

“God, what are we doing?” Rosaline asks when Benvolio’s lips make their way to her neck.

He mumbles an unintelligible response against her skin, unwittingly finding a place that gives her goosebumps, and she shivers deliciously. He smiles and places a sucking kiss there.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she gasps, tightening her fingers in his hair. “I still hate you… oh, do that again.”

He nips, then licks that spot on her neck before lifting his head. “And you’re still a harpy,” he says, looking at her and wondering if he looks as wrecked as she does. Swollen lips, glassy, dilated eyes, mussed hair. He decides he probably looks worse, then dives back in.

“Capulet…” he groans between kisses, “Rosaline.”

She pulls back when she hears him actually address her by her first name. “Benvolio,” she replies, her voice coming out a lot more evenly than she expected.

“Come home with me,” he says, leaning his forehead against hers. He closes his eyes, preparing for rejection. Now that he knows how she kisses, how she tastes, he doesn’t think he wants to give it up. Doesn’t think he can.

She waits just long enough for his heart to stop beating. “Okay,” she finally whispers, admitting to herself that he just might not be as awful as she has been thinking. Letting herself acknowledge that he can be very sweet and thoughtful, that he is handsome and funny and smart and maybe, just maybe, she could let herself like him.

Plus he’s a really good kisser and she wants more.

He lets out a breath and his eyes fly open. “Really?”

She nods. “I must be losing my mind,” she says.

“Well, you’re not alone there,” he agrees, kisses her quickly but thoroughly, then grabs her hand and pulls her towards their coats.

“We should say goodbye,” she lightly protests, but follows him anyway.

“I think they can figure it out,” he counters. “I’m pretty sure they noticed.”

“Oh shit,” she responds, laughing.

“Mercutio’s fault,” he says, opening the door. He stops her and kisses her once more as she passes.

“Yeah,” she agrees, then disappears into the cold night.

He follows closely. “Did you just agree with me?” he asks.

“No,” she retorts, hoping he doesn’t see her smile.

xXx

They stumble through the door, kissing and pulling at coats. Benvolio tugs at Rosaline’s scarf, pulling it tighter instead of unwinding it.

“Are you… trying to… strangle me, Montague?” she asks, yanking the scarf out of his hand and successfully removing it. “Was that your plan all along? To lure me back to your lair and—mm!”

He stops her words with his lips again, having realized that it is really the most effective way to put that tongue of hers to better use. They stumble and slide a little bit as they try to get their shoes off without their hands.

Not succeeding, they break apart and quickly remove their shoes, leaving them by the door to let the snow melt off and dry.

“Not much of a lair, I’m afraid. No dungeon or anything,” he replies, indicating his apartment.

It’s a studio, small, but tidy. Rosaline tries to hide her shock as she looks around. There is a kitchenette off to one side, with a door beside it leading to the bathroom, a small sofa situated in front of a TV, and a bed in the corner.

“It’s… nice,” she says.

“You thought I was rich,” he comments, correctly guessing her thoughts. “I’m not. My uncle is, and he raised me.” He pulls her into his arms again, kissing her while he walks her towards the bed. “When I escaped from under his thumb – I moved out against his wishes – I was cut off. I don’t have much, but at least I’m in control of my life,” he finishes.

“I didn’t know that,” she whispers, her fingers toying with the open collar of his shirt. She drops her gaze for a moment, but meets his eyes again.

“I think there is a lot we don’t know about each other,” he says, his hands sliding up and down her back. They are large and warm and starting to get distracting.

“I think there may be a lot of things we have wrong about each other, too,” she agrees, finally managing to open a couple buttons on his shirt.

“My uncle has always been awful to me,” he admits, his hands finding the zipper on the back of her dress.

“My aunt hates me,” she blurts, pulling him by the shirt and kissing him. “I moved out as soon as Livia was old enough to come with me.”

“Is that why?” he returns, shrugging out of his shirt and helping her undo his belt and pants. “I thought you were just… stubbornly independent.”

“That too, but only because I’ve had to be,” she explains, pulling her arms out of the sleeves of her dress. “I had to take care of myself – and my sister – because no one else would.” She steps out of the garment, leaving it in a puddle on the floor.

“I get that,” he answers. Then his eyebrows rise when he sees a tattoo of a rose on her hip bone. “A tattoo?” he asks, running his thumb over it. “You?”

She skims her fingers over the ink twined around his upper arm. “You’ve got one,” she points out. She’s seen it before, as it isn’t in a hidden spot like hers.

“Yes,” he answers, kicking his pants aside and pulling her to the bed, where he kisses her lips, then her neck. “But I’m not Little Miss Perfect who never does anything wro-ONG!” His last word turns into a yelp of surprise when her exploring hand finds the bulge at the front of his boxer briefs.

“Oh, everything I have ever done is wrong, if you ask my aunt,” she whispers in his ear. “But she doesn’t know about the tattoo anyway.” She sucks his earlobe into her mouth, flicks it with her tongue, then lightly bites it. “I don’t have a death wish.”

He laughs. “I didn’t get mine until after I moved out,” he says, his eyes hungrily raking over her body. “God, how have I never noticed how gorgeous you are?” he exhales, his hand hovering, seeming not to know where to land. She reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, making his decision for him. He helps her cast it aside, then kisses her deeply, his hand closing over a breast, learning the feel of it and how she likes to be touched.

“You were too busy trying to – oh – disagree with everything I say. Just on principle,” she answers, angling her hips upward when his free hand slips into her panties to find that she is already hot and slippery with desire.

He groans against her chest, and she answers in kind, moving her own hand from outside his underwear to inside. When she wraps him in her grasp, his fingers momentarily falter, pausing the delicious things he is doing with them.

“Fuck,” he whispers, dragging his mouth down to suck a taut nipple in and swirl his tongue around it.

“Yes,” she agrees, smiling when she feels his chuckle against her chest.

“Off,” he grunts, tugging at her panties.

“You too,” she says. She moves her hand out of his boxers and they are both fully naked seconds later.

“Oh yeah,” he absently comments, rolling to the side, opening a drawer, and briefly rummaging until he finds a condom.

When he turns back, he finds her watching him, and something in her expression gives him pause. “Capulet? You okay? You’re not… I mean, are you having second thoughts? Because we can totally stop if you—”

“No!” she exclaims. “I mean, no,” she calmly says, trying to appear like she isn’t about to go mad with desire for a man who she considered to be her enemy up until maybe half an hour ago. “I’m good… more than good.”

“You sure?” he asks, his voice more tender than she’s ever heard it. “You were looking a little freaked there.”

“Well, yeah,” she laughs. “Look at us. _Us_ . You and me. Naked. Together. Willingly.”

He looks down at the condom wrapper, repeatedly flipping it over in his fingers. “It is pretty wild, hey?” he asks. Then he lies back down, reclines alongside her, and hooks his leg over hers while he props himself up on his elbow. “But I have heard that the line between love and hate can be very thin indeed,” he adds. Then, realizing _exactly_ what he just said, quickly stammers, “I mean, not _love_ love… I’m not trying to say… I mean we only _just_ …” Then he stops, seeing the amusement on her face. “Are you enjoying my discomfort, Capulet?”

“Immensely,” she answers, letting herself fully grin before reaching up to his neck and pulling his face down to hers for a kiss. “Now are you gonna use that condom or just play with it all night?” she whispers against his lips.

“Whatever you want,” he returns, then skims his lips down, tracing her jawline before placing a sucking kiss on her neck.

“Is that so?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him. When he nods, her lips curl into a devilish smirk and she plucks the condom from his fingers.

A second later, Benvolio finds himself on his back with Rosaline straddling his thighs. He watches with wide eyes as she tears open the condom.

His eyes widen further when she leans down and licks his cock from root to tip, just once, before sitting back up and putting the condom on him.

“Fu…” he exhales, unable to even finish the curse as he watches her moving into position over him, sliding her core over his shaft, flexing her hips to move her wet center up and down.

When she decides he has been tortured enough, she lifts up, takes him in her hand, and then slides back down, sheathing him inside her.

“Oh my God,” she breathes, dropping her head back. His cock is long and thick and feels perfect inside her.

He groans, his fingers digging into her hips. When she begins to move, he slides his hands up her torso to guide her face back down to him. He needs to kiss her before he completely loses his mind.

His large hands frame her face as he kisses her with a tenderness that contrasts the needy, almost frantic motion of their bodies. It is almost as if their minds and bodies are at odds as much as the two of them have always been, but in this case the contradiction finds a way to work together to bring them both to the brink of pleasure.

“Ben…” she gasps, dropping her forehead against his for a moment. His hands have resumed their roaming, making her skin tingle wherever they touch. He reaches down and grasps her hips, helping her move as he thrusts his hips up against her. She mewls when he hits just the right spot, so he tries to repeat the motion again and knows he succeeds when she gasps a breathy, “Oh!”

“Yes,” he grunts, then nudges his head lower to catch a breast with his mouth. She shifts to accommodate him, even bringing up one hand to help support his head as he nips and sucks at her sensitive flesh.

Her fingers tighten in his hair and he drops his head back to the pillow, trying to hang on. He can tell she’s close: she is whimpering and panting and beginning to tremble. He slides his right hand from her hip to her center, where his thumb easily finds the right spot.

She cries out moments later, her body jerking slightly as her orgasm crests. She pulls his hair again and slightly slumps over him. Her lips find his neck, and she bites the side of it just as he lets go, coming harder than he has in a long time, if ever.

They lie together, entwined, not talking, for several minutes. Then she carefully rolls off of him, lying beside him but not touching him.

She misses his warmth almost immediately.

“So. That… happened,” Benvolio carefully says, trying to play it cool while he is reeling from the realization that he just had the best sex he’s ever had, and it was with Rosaline Capulet.

Rosaline’s heart stops. _I thought it was amazing… did he not?_ “Do… do you regret it now?” she cautiously asks.

He lets his head flop to the side, looking at her. “Do you?”

She does the same, meeting his gaze. “I asked you first.”

“Really?” he groans, and they both laugh in spite of themselves. “No,” he finally answers. “I don’t regret it. If you do, we can just… pretend it didn’t happen and go back to hating—”

This time it is the touch of her hand on his that stops his words. “I don’t think there is any going back from this,” she says. “I mean… I don’t think… I _don’t_ want to go back to that. I don’t regret this either.”

He exhales, relieved, and turns his hand to twine his fingers with hers. “Good,” he answers. “Because that was mind-blowing,” he admits.

“Oh, God, I was afraid it was just me!” she exclaims, her free hand coming up to her forehead.

“Definitely not,” he assures her, squeezing her hand. He pauses a moment, weighing his next words. “For what it’s worth, Capulet… Rosaline… I don’t think I ever really hated you.”

“No?” she asks.

“No. I think you were just the first person to truly challenge me. To not tolerate and call me out on my bullshit. I didn’t know what to do with that,” he admits.

“You’re not _that_ full of bullshit,” she says, chuckling. “And I know I can be… difficult. I’m not always the easiest person to get along with. I don’t… I don’t let people in.”

He sighs and tugs on their joined hands until she understands what he wants and scoots closer, pillowing her head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around her and kisses her forehead. “From what you said earlier, I think you have a pretty good reason for your defensiveness,” he replies. “But I’m glad you know you can be difficult,” he adds with a laugh that ends in a yelp as she slaps his chest.

“Like you said: we just don’t know each other. Not the way we thought we did, anyway,” she says, reaching down to pull the blankets up over them. “Cold,” she absently explains.

“I think I’d like to get to know the real Rosaline Capulet. The woman behind the walls,” he says, closing his eyes. “This is nice,” he sighs.

“Mmm, me too. I mean the real Benvolio Montague, obviously,” she agrees. “And you know what? It really is nice. Lying here with you. You’re much cuddlier than I would have thought.”

“And you are much softer than your general demeanor would suggest,” he says, kissing her forehead again. A moment later he grins and adds, “I’m also happy to discover that you didn’t tear my head off and consume it.”

“Maybe next time,” she replies, which only makes him laugh harder. “Have to keep you on your toes, you know.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt that will be a problem,” he answers. “Wait, next time? So, you… you want this – us – to be an actual thing? To try, anyway?”

“I think so,” she whispers. “That thing you said about the line between love and hate sometimes being thin?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They are quiet for a few minutes. Rosaline thinks Benvolio has fallen asleep, but then he speaks. “Mercutio is going to be insufferable when he finds out. Him and his stupid mistletoe.”

She snorts. “It wasn’t even mistletoe. Fucking _parsley._ ”

He laughs, reaching down to gently lift her chin. He tenderly kisses her and says, “Merry Christmas, Rosaline.”

She smiles up at him. “Merry Christmas, Benvolio.”


End file.
